


Rebellious Spark

by Askellie (NadaNine)



Series: SLAUE [21]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Aftercare, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Non-Consensual, Sexual Slavery, Soul Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-18 13:55:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16996269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NadaNine/pseuds/Askellie
Summary: (Swap) Papyrus cleans up the aftermath of one of Chara's messes.Immediate Sequel to 'Brotherly Bonding'.





	Rebellious Spark

**Author's Note:**

> Content Warnings: Aftermath of non-con, incest, sexual slavery, soul-trauma, violence, injury, hurt/comfort, dub-con shower sex, incestuous voyeurism, psychological manipulation.

_Blinding light was shining into his eyesockets. He blinks a few times, trying to see past the glare, but he’s only able to make out pale, indistinct shapes. Everything is white and sterile except for the machine above him which looked like something dug up from the depths of hell itself. Its body is rust-red plates and steel mashed together in twisted, torturous shapes. It looks like the skull of some monstrous beast, with empty pits for eyes and wires sprouting from its skull like arterial veins. Its maw is open, and in the gaping space between its pronged teeth is a soul._

_**His soul** _ _._

_It’s held in place with cruel skewers pierced through its soft body. It trembles and pulls yearningly, trying to return to the safety of his body, and it hurts, so badly that the pain makes him choke on every breath and leaves him paralysed._

_Something – someone – moves in his peripheral vision, and his soul starts pulsing harder, struggling to flee, impaling itself deeper on the spikes until his vision is flickering and his body convulses and the fear is so strong that the thought of death feels like it would be a mercy but he knows he isn’t that lucky_ –

“–stop that. I didn’t order you to play dead.”

Something prods Edge hard, right between the eyes, and he flinches, disoriented by the abrupt shift in perspective. He focuses his gaze, and the smiling countenance of the demon child comes into view, far too close for comfort. They poke him again, smiling wider when they receive his usual glare in response, followed by a melodious laugh when Edge makes the mistake of moving and nearly swoons at the sudden tidal wave of _WETHOTHURTHEAVYTINGLING_ sensation. A wrenching noise tears its way from his throat, partly smothered by the gag, and he just barely manages to control the wild instinct that tells him to fight and struggle because fresh experience has taught him it’ll only make it worse.

Despite his brief lapse in coherence, he can’t have been dazed for long because though the demon child has moved closer, everything else around him is the same. His brother’s body is still atop him, but no longer writhing. Instead, he’s gone eerily still, like a limp marionette with all its strings cut. Their bonds are still in place, and he’s particularly aware of the horrible, raw chafing through the loops in his pelvis. There’s also a particularly brutal ache in his shoulder where his brother’s skull is slumped limply on top of the fresh bite marks he’d scoured into Edge’s bones.

He huffs around the gag, trying to keep his composure while the human watches with interest and unbridled curiosity. He tries to snarl a demand at them, and they giggle at the attempt as the words come out ragged and incomprehensible.

“Okay, Edge, if you really insist,” they say as if Edge had actually managed to speak properly. “Here, let me just…”

They pull something from their belt. It’s a knife. Edge wasn’t unaware of its presence, having noticed the discrete shape beneath the human’s clothing on multiple occasions, but he’s never seen them use it. They reach down, eyes never leaving his, and begin deliberately sawing through each of the ties binding him to his brother, one string at a time.

Edge hates that he rewards them with a shudder. Their small hand roams as they cut, obstensibly steadying his hips or plucking at the strings to make them easier to reach, but they know how much their touch appals him and they make a point of taking their time. Small, soft fingers skate along the inner circumference of his ischium, slickened by the excessive secretions of his brother’s soul, and he horrifies himself with a tight, wanton sound. The vulgar heat forced upon him by the stimulation hasn’t yet dissipated, leaving him with yet another ache trying to demand his attention. He ignores it, refusing to buck into the human’s insidious touch, and with a knowing smirk they move their attentions elsewhere.

The last rope cut is the one between their collars, and without any further support to hold him upright, Red slides off his chest and hits the floor with a careless thud which the human made no attempt to soften. They lean over him, nudging him with the same careless consideration they’d shown to Edge. As they angle Red’s skull for inspection, Edge can see that his brother’s eyesockets are empty, likely attesting to his lack of consciousness, which would be bad enough, but his soul…

There’s no more silvery secretion of magic. Instead, it’s gone completely dry, tapped out completely, and at the edges of the white, papery shape there’s a dark shadow which, combined with the ominous smell of acrid scorching in the air, makes Edge’s eyes widen, aghast. He knows what a burnout looks like.

“Hey Red,” the demon coos, shaking the smaller skeleton as if he were merely sleeping. “Wake up now. Playtime’s over.”

They seem disappointed when Red doesn’t respond, and their irrepressible gaze shifts back to the small, drifting shape of the wounded soul. It seems lost, like it doesn’t know where to go instead of returning to Red’s body like it should. Almost hypnotically, the human’s small hand begins to drift towards the fragile construct.

A garbled shriek and a sharp rattling of chains quickly diverts their attention, and despite regretting the way his restrains have jarred his pain anew, Edge can feel nothing but rattling fury as he glares at them for even daring. He bores into them with the most intimidating expression he can muster, though unfortunately the human is all too aware of the lack of real threat he presents. Their chuckle mocks him.

“Ah, I know. Papyrus told me…no touching, right?” Their expression creases in perverse amusement as they look back towards the soul, its weak glow reflected in the human’s strangely hued eyes. “But look…it’s so frail. It’s like one touch would just make it fall apart.”

One touch, combined with that malicious intent, might very well be all it would take, and Edge struggled anew suddenly struck by the unthinkable certainty that the human was so enamoured with the idea that they simply didn’t care enough to stop before they’d turned his brother to dust. The chains creaked furiously, but the human wasn’t diverted a second time. They reached out again, ignoring Edge’s gagged howls of protest. The little soul, perhaps sensing a larger predator, drifts uneasily away from the approaching hand but it doesn’t dare move far from Red’s body and it’s not moving nearly fast enough.

The door is kicked open with a dull thud, and Edge never imagined he’d actually be relieved to see Papyrus’s lanky frame darkening a doorway. The human is on their feet in an instant, hands coyly laced behind their back, their expression one of defiant glee.

Papyrus takes in the room with one sweep of his eyelights, and his expression hardens. “What were you doing, Chara?”

“Just playing a little,” they purr, smiling with all the innocence of the child they often disturbingly resemble. “I’ve been so bored this morning without you, Papy. You really shouldn’t have-”

Edge doesn’t even see Papyrus move. One moment he’s in the doorway, the next he’s next to the human and there’s the sharp ring of a slap filling the sudden silence. Edge blinks, hardly trusting his eye-sockets, but there’s definitely no mistake. Papyrus’s arm is outstretched. His face is nearly impassive, which is somehow even more unnerving than if he’d looked angry. The human’s face has been wrenched by the blow, spun sideways. With slow, careful movements, they turn their head back, reaching up to press tentatively to the cheek where the imprint of narrow phalanges have left a visible red mark.

“Get out,” Papyrus says, his voice cool.

The human hesitates for a moment, and Edge braces himself for violent retribution, a tantrum, a punishment against Papyrus for his audacity to strike his master. He absolutely does not expect the human to simply walk out without a word, quietly closing the door behind them.

Only when they’ve left does Papyrus look down, releasing a heavy sigh. “Fuck.”

Edge finds himself agreeing with the sentiment. Now that the human is gone, he dares to sag back against the wall, sore and exhausted and still rattling from anger and panic. He watches blearily as Papyrus kneels down, unable to avoid the wide pool of oozing soul fluids, and studies the state of Red’s soul with an air of consternation.

His expression doesn’t fill Edge with much confidence, especially not when his inspection stretches out for an uncomfortably long interval. Edge grunts softly, trying to provoke a reaction, a response, anything except staring uselessly at his brother’s soul when it looks like it’s about to break apart.

Papyrus flicks him an irritated glance. “Hang on a minute. I have to deal with this.”

Well _obviously_. Edge grumbles but forces himself to wait a minute more. Only when he’s about to snarl at the other skeleton to just _do something_ does Papyrus finally shift, his fingers curling carefully around Red’s soul without actually touching its surface, and with a cheery TING of sound the colour of the soul changes from white to blue. With a gentle shooing gesture, he guides it back towards Red’s sternum.

Edge watches through narrowed sockets. He’s seen Papyrus use small shows of magic on a few other occasions, which means that his collar must not suppress his powers entirely the way Edge’s does. Blue magic seems to be his favoured skill. He’s used it to hold Edge down a couple of times, and occasionally to gravitate items into his reach, though with such infrequent use it’s difficult to gauge how strong he actually is.

Red’s soul seems to be giving him trouble, almost as if it doesn’t want to return to its hosts chest. Papyrus curses softly, then abruptly changes tactics, adopting a low, encouraging tone.

“Come on, Red, don’t be a jerk about this, huh? I just wanna put this soul of yours back where it came from. I’m sure it’ll feel better once it’s back inside you. Come on, take it back, easy does it.”

Either the coaxing has some effect, or persistence wins out, because with a snap of compressed air the soul suddenly jerks back into Red’s ribcage and vanishes. The small skeleton jerks, body seizing with something that looks disturbingly like agony. Papyrus’s concerned hands are blindly smacked aside as Red rolls over and heaves up black bile – the scorched dregs of his magic – with a spluttering cough before going limp again, but the faint trembles shuddering through his small frame are an improvement over the worrying stillness.

“That’s right. Well done,” Papyrus sooths, rubbing the small skeleton’s shoulder blades in a way that makes Edge flare with indignation, because _how dare_ the bastard act like he’s some sort of saviour here when it was his human master who just brutalised his brother. A growl rumbles through his throat, but mortifyingly it quickly trails off into a whine as the vibration carries down his vertebrae and through his injured shoulder.

“All right, Edge, your turn.” Taking a moment to insure that Red’s small, shivering form isn’t going anywhere, Papyrus turns his attention to Edge who is suddenly uncertain if this is really the development he wanted. The taller skeleton stands to approach him, and Edge is reminded of all the instances in which this monster has stood over him, holding him in place, touching him, teasing him, _violating_ him–

He cringes, turning away because he doesn’t want to give Papyrus the satisfaction of seeing how affected he is. He doesn’t expect the hand that rests on his skull, petting him placatingly as Papyrus crouches down to his level. “Let me have a look at you.”

A delicate touch grazes along the line of his collarbone, exploring the notches where Red’s teeth had nearly cracked the slender bone in half. There’s traces of dust around the marks, and marrow showing in the deepest grooves, but also the inexplicable red substance welling up like blood would for a human, which Edge most definitely isn’t.

“What is…?” Papyrus looks confused, prodding one of the seeping holes with enough pressure to make Edge squawk and hunch back, wheezing around the gag. The pained sound seems to jar Papyrus from his inspection. Carelessly, he wipes his fingers off on his shirt, leaving vibrant smears. “Okay. Shit, we need to get that cleaned up. I’m going to undo some of the chains, so _hold still_. Don’t give me any reason to change my mind, or you can stay like this ‘till Chara comes back.”

The thought holds no appeal whatsoever. Edge grudgingly lets his body be manhandled, allowing Papyrus bend and twist him through the contortions needed to remove the chains. The complicated arrangement that keeps his humeri and forearms locked up against his ribcage is reduced to a single chain between each wrist. The ones that bind his calves to his femurs, forcing him to stay kneeling and immobile, are removed entirely. Finally the back of his collar is unhooked from the wall, allowing him to loosen the rigid strain of his spine.

He allows himself a sigh of absolute relief, lowing his head to flex all the cramped vertebrae between the small of his back and his nape, only to have Papyrus coax him back upright. He tenses, expecting some sort of admonishment, only to be completely taken aback as Papyrus reaches around his skull and begins unfastening the gag.

Papyrus catches his stupefied expression, and gives a crooked smile. “You’re getting some time off for good behaviour. Don’t make me regret it.”

Edge isn’t going to question this inexplicable boon. The thick, padded stopper is pried gently from his teeth, and he gratefully closes his jaw and tries to swallow away the hideous taste of leather and rubber. This is the most unrestrained he’s been since he’d woken up in captivity, and for one moment the wild impulse to lash out, to take his chance and see if he can cave Papyrus’s skull in and flee while the human is gone is nearly overwhelming…but a glance at his brother reminds him that he wouldn’t be fleeing alone, and he doesn’t yet have enough information to ensure their success in the attempt.

Besides, he is in a completely unacceptable level of pain and in dire need of a bath, and both needs were likely to be tended to if he played along for the moment.

“Can you stand?” Papyrus asks, testing Edge’s newly formed resolve by daring to turn his back on the other in order to check on Red again. Edge glares, than takes a moment to consider the question. His bones have been locked in excruciating bondage for days. A tentative test of motion makes him hiss as his knees creak and threaten to lock up. He tries to force them to straighten, scrabbling at the wall with his bound hands, but can’t find any purchase to help lever himself to his feet.

He scowls furiously at his own weakness. “I will…need a minute.”

Even his voice sounds pathetic, low and raspy with disuse. He glares at his legs, trying to will them to obey him. Papyrus sighs dramatically, easily plucking Red from the floor and cradling the small skeleton in the crook of one arm. “Here, let me help.”

Edge splutters on his protest as his soul is turned blue and promptly levitated off the floor, forcing him upwards. With disturbing ease Papyrus sidles beneath him and drapes Edge over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, holding him in place with an arm over the small of his back.

“Augh! Unhand me, you creti-URK!”

A warning grip on his tail-bone startles him into silence. Papyrus gives it a meaningful squeeze. “ _Behave_ , Edge.”

With a stifled grumble of protest, Edge allows himself to be subdued, if only because his pelvis is still insufferably sensitive, and also because the clumsy idiot would probably drop his brother if provoked. He’s forced to endure the discomforting hold as Papyrus carries them into the vast adjoining bathroom that Edge has only caught glimpses of from his narrow corner of imprisonment. The room is tiled in a smooth, pristine white, and contains amenities that look far too large for the small human who uses them.

Crossing the room. Edge is set down with unexpected care next to the enormous shower stall. Edge settles himself carefully, trying to find a position that doesn’t aggravate his pelvis or his shoulder. He expects Red to be put down as well, possibly in the stall itself, but instead Papyrus carries him over to the expansive tub by the window and lowers Red into it, obscuring him from Edge’s view.

Edge had imagined they would get little more than a fleeting wipe-down, the only measure of cleanliness he’s been allowed whenever Papyrus or the human defiles him. The possibility of an actual bath is enticing. Unfolding his legs with all the awkwardness of a newborn foal, he makes an attempt to shuffle closer only to find himself thrown back against the wall, yelping at the sudden, harsh grip on his soul.

From across the room, Papyrus gives him a disapproving look. “I don’t think so. Stay put until I’m done with Red here.”

“Why?” Edge snaps back, feeling disgusted by the slippery filth on his bones. “He’s small. There’s more than enough room-”

“I don’t want you near him just yet,” Papyrus tells him frankly.

Edge bristles, indignant. “I didn’t harm him by choice! It was your human who-!”

“Don’t care,” Papyrus says, aggravatingly placid. “Red’s pretty fragile right now, and you haven’t given me any reason to trust you.”

As much as Edge wants to argue, that’s usually the decision that results in being gagged again. Reluctantly, he swallows down his outrage and turns his face aside, seething in silence as he listens to the tantalising sounds of water filling the tub. Papyrus sheds his ruined shirt, balling up the ruined cloth and throwing it haphazardly into a hamper before reaching for a soft-bristled brush. He leans over the side of the bath and gets to work at scrubbing the mess of fluids from Red’s body while Edge curls up and sulks disdainfully.

He hasn’t been able to bathe properly since his capture, and even now he can feel the film of greasy human handprints all over his bones where they’d held him down and laughed through his frantic struggling. Every inch of him feels unclean and tainted, and the wretched state of his body is almost as unbearable as the humiliation of his subjugation. It’s nearly enough to make him wretch. He’s not sure how his brother is able to stand it.

His brother…Edge scowls to himself, teeth grinding together until his jaw aches. His brother, missing for months and reportedly dead…not that Edge had ever believed that, not without the dust to prove it. Finding his brother enslaved isn’t exactly an unexpected development – Edge had explored every other possible avenue whilst searching and deemed it a likely outcome – but finding him so _adjusted_ to it is shocking. Disturbing. Horrifying. Edge can hardly fathom it; can’t wrap his mind around the unspeakable ways the humans must have broken his brother for him to have become like this, not even considering the state of his soul–

Edge cringes at his own thoughts, briskly trying to banish the thought from his mind. He doesn’t want to think of his brother’s soul, of the way it had pulsed frantically against him, the way it had broadcast its distress in waves of magic and begged for an answer, a connection, anything.

He’d nearly given in. Reprehensible as it was, his brother had been suffering, and not even at his most callous could Papyrus remain unmoved. Only the presence of the human, with their bright, hungry eyes and sharp, white smile, had prevented him from being able to draw his own soul out into the open. Self-preservation instinct had suppressed it, and so his brother’s call had gone unanswered, and as a result…

In a reciprocal soul-sharing, his brother’s energy would have poured into him, and his own would have flowed in return, leaving them both full and satisfied. Instead, Red’s magic had flooded out all over the floor in a senseless, desolate waste. It was completely deplorable, and…Edge felt something disturbingly like remorse for forcing his brother to endure alone.

He’s broken from his inner turmoil as Papyrus suddenly appears to kneel at his side, unwelcomely close. Edge jerks, but the grip on his soul is still holding him in place. “Okay, your turn.”

It takes some awkward manoeuvring but Papyrus manages to shuffle Edge along the wall until he’s in the middle of the shower stall. He can’t help casting a confused, longing look towards the bath, which Papyrus notices.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to submerge that injury of yours,” he says, reaching for the shower-head. It unclips readily from its bracket, extending out on a long, flexible tube, allowing him to direct the spray. “Besides, if you really want a bath, I’ll make it an incentive for next time. Be good, and you’ll earn one.”

“Tch,” Edge huffs, irritated by the promise of extortion, but not enough to complain and risk being denied even a miserly rinse for all his troubles. It’ll have to do for now. While Papyrus fiddles with the settings on the nozzle, Edge covertly spies his brother’s small form across the room, swaddled in a pile of towels. His eyesockets are shut now, his expression still bearing traces of tension, but the shivering has stopped. As much as Edge wants to check him more thoroughly, there’s no means of doing so discretely.

He’s been doing his best to ignore Papyrus, so he’s not at all prepared when the other skeleton suddenly speaks. “I was wrong before. Sorry ‘bout that.”

Edge stares at him, uncomprehending, and Papyrus sheepishly continues, “You’re quick to pick fights with me and Chara, but you’re careful around Blue, and not just because I warned you. You were more gentle with Red than you needed to be too. So. I know you wouldn’t have hurt him even if I gave you the opportunity.”

Papyrus twists a knob and tests the force of water spraying from the nozzle, carefully angling it away from Edge’s injury with a small smile. “I figured you out. You’re one of those 'unimpeachable code of honour’-types, right? The ones who don’t compromise. You don’t hurt people who don’t deserve it. I get it.”

Edge scowls, going tense. Papyrus notices his reaction and barks with laughter. “Hey, I’m not judging! That’s a compliment, I swear. Very admirable. Not everyone tries to keep their principles when their life goes to shit. I actually kind of admire you.”

This isn’t at all the kind of conversation Edge ever thought to hear from his regular tormentor. He’s stunned to absolute silence as Papyrus goes to work on rinsing him down. The water is warm and pleasant as it sprays against his ribs and spine, making it difficult not to hum his appreciation. The way Papyrus smirks at him makes him suspect the other skeleton can sense his relief, however.

“I’d be kind of happy if you got to keep it,” Papyrus muses, carefully scrubbing his phalanges along Edge’s sternum to scrape away some of the soul fluid. Edge shivers a little at the contact. “Chara doesn’t see the point, of course. They keep telling me to hurry up and break you in already, but…”

The mention of the human child makes even the heat of the water feel suddenly cold, and there’s a spike of real apprehension as Papyrus’s well-intentioned touch lingers uncomfortably. Edge holds his breath, expecting this to be the moment where everything suddenly turns, where Papyrus re-establishes his dominance with a vehemence, but instead he just offers Edge a strangely subdued, wistful expression. “I like your spark. I’d rather not snuff it out, if I can avoid it.”

Papyrus works swiftly and efficiently. Edge suspects this particular chore is one the other skeleton has had a lot of practice with, by the sureness of his touch as he gently lifts a cloth and uses it to scour away all traces of residue. He dabs cautiously around the bite marks, giving the bright red fluid another consternated look before wringing out the cloth and letting the fluid spiral down the drain. Edge endures as stonily as he can, but the water is making him very discomfortingly aware of his nakedness in a way he’d almost forgotten how to be. He draws his knees up to his pelvis in a paltry attempt at modesty, but Papyrus nudges them apart almost immediately, slowly working his way down Edge’s spine to where the worst of the splatters had landed in the cradle of Edge’s hips.

“You should try be a little more like Red,” Papyrus says conversationally. It’s slightly unsettling, to be spoken to like an equal after having spent the last couple of weeks as little more than a pet or an object. Edge suspects Papyrus is trying to distract him, perhaps to ease the tension between them, and isn’t sure if he should be grateful or resentful. Still, mention of his brother piques his interest, and it must show because Papyrus glances at him knowingly. “He knows how to play the game. He’s actually a snarky little shit whenever Chara’s not around, but he knows…well. _Usually_ knows how to keep himself out of trouble.”

’ _Snarky little shit_ ’ was perhaps the perfect description of the brother he remembered, not the meek, pitiful creature he’s seen since his arrival. He does his best to hide it, but there’s a rush of relief that maybe his brother hasn’t been broken beyond all repair. If he’s been feigning his attitude to appease the human…little wonder that he’d need to, given his poor health. He wouldn’t have been able to endure even a fraction of the punishments Edge has brought on himself in his attempts to resist. Perhaps he should have given his brother more credit.

“You should give it a shot,” Papyrus offers, taking advantage of Edge’s contemplative silence. He’s reached Edge’s pelvis now, and it’s a fight not to give in to his instincts which are starting to panic at the too-intimate contact. Edge grips fiercely at the chain binding his wrists behind his back, knowing already that there will be no negotiation here, no allowance for him to clean himself and spare the shame of foreign hands delving into the crevices of his bones. His breathing has become ragged. He can’t bring himself to watch. Papyrus keeps his voice low, soothing and hypnotic. “Just bend a little. Let Chara think they’re winning. It’ll help.”

A careless nudge against his pubic arch makes him jolt with a cry, reeling from the overwhelming sensitivity of the bone. It hurts where the cords have chafed, and worse, it aches from having been denied his earlier release in his desperate attempts to hold back, to resist the influence of his brother’s soul. Papyrus directs the flow of the water to wash him clean and inspects him thoroughly, looking for cracks or scratches in the bone. The meticulous attention and fleeting touches only incite the low thrum of need. He can’t stop the way his hips twitch under the stream.

Papyrus regards him carefully. “I’m going to touch you. I’ll go slow. Tell me if it hurts.”

There’s no opening for his refusal, but some awful part of him almost wants this, because his control was frayed to breaking point when his brother had climaxed atop him and he can still remember that painful, breath-stealing moment; the glorious rush of magic, of comfort and familiarity, of friction and pressure and desire left unfulfilled.

_Just bend a little._

He will have to bend, if he wants to survive here, if he wants to fool the human into loosening their rigid vigilance over him. Lull them into a false sense of security; let them think him tamed and subdued. He can do this. It’s not unbearable.

Papyrus palms his pubic crest, and Edge tries to stifle the low, needy sounds usually stifled by the gag that he hasn’t needed to think about until now. It’s much more difficult, keeping himself quiet by willpower alone, and his efforts are a poor token of resistance as Papyrus expertly directs both the jet of water and the movements of his own fingers with a skill that makes Edge peak quickly.

The sound of Edge’s voice, quavering and wanton, breaking apart in the throes of desperation, must strike some innate chord in his brother, because just as he reaches his peak he sees Red startle awake, blinking rapidly in a panicked rush that turns to startled mortification. He can’t seem to look away, and Edge flushes vibrantly, too far gone to swallow the moan that rattles him as his bones shudder uncontrollably with helpless, dizzying pleasure. The profoundness of the moment shakes him enough that he even lets Papyrus hold him, murmuring low, approving reassurances as Edge comes down from the unexpectedly fraught intensity of the climax.


End file.
